Such A Little Thing
by ImagineGal
Summary: Little Frodo comes across an interesting trinket of his Uncle's. . .
1. Tiny Treasure

CHAPTER ONE: Tiny Treasure  
  
He hardly ever left it unattended.  
  
He was always in a position where he would know just exactly where it was at all times- and most times, it was nestled safely in the pocket of his waistcoat. While he slept, it lay on his bedside table, or, on more frantic nights of paranoia, clutched in the palm of his hand.  
  
He liked having it around. It always comforted him to know that it was nearby; his, and his alone, something that belonged to no one else but him, and that, if he had his way, wouldn't belong to anyone else.  
  
There were those moments, however, those rare, few-and-far-between moments when, by some inexplicable twist in the mind, he felt at least somewhat safe leaving it alone and by itself. These were usually the times when he was alone in the house, and there was a very slim chance of anyone coming along and snatching it away. And they were also, most often, times when he was occupied in activities that would make it difficult for it to be very near to him.  
  
Like, for instance, taking a bath.  
  
He emerged happily from the steam-filled bathroom, humming to himself, and wrapped in a towel. He briskly dried, and, tossing the towel aside, began to dress. Undergarments, shirt, pants, waistcoat, and jacket. Ruffling the towel through his hair with one hand, he casually put his other hand into his vest pocket, searching for the item.  
  
It wasn't there.  
  
A panicked look flashed quickly through his grey-blue eyes, but the emotion was quickly tossed aside with a small shake of the head. He must have left it in his other pocket. Yes, that was it.  
  
But it wasn't there, either.  
  
He set the towel down, both hands now searching frantically. They searched the pockets of the jacket and then the waistcoat again, and then patted themselves down the sides of his pants.  
  
Nothing. Nowhere. Gone.  
  
It was gone. . .  
  
*  
  
10 minutes earlier. . .  
  
Frodo Baggins munched on a piece of cheese he had snatched out of the pantry, listening to the muted humming and snatches of song emerging from behind the bathroom door. He had always enjoyed the sounds of music, even when they came from Uncle Bilbo while singing in the tub. Music was something that made him feel happy, and safe in a way, even though his young mind couldn't really comprehend of such a thing.  
  
One other thing he didn't have a real notion about was the death of his parents. He understood that they were "gone", that they had "went away", and wouldn't be coming back for a long, long while. . . But death was something foreign to him, as it is to all children and little hobbits, something so far off, so distant, that it seems inconceivable.  
  
Popping the last bit of cheese into his mouth, he passed by the bathroom door. His Uncle's garments were lying on a wooden chest nearby.  
  
Sauntering over curiously, Frodo picked up a few of his Uncle's clothes. They were big. . . almost as big as he was.  
  
He stepped into the pants, and tried to pull them up. But he almost had to stretch his arms to reach the ends.  
  
Then he snatched the vest.  
  
He pulled it on over his head, or rather, pushed his head into it, and squished up the top so he could get his arms through the holes in the sides. He laughed, and turned around in a circle, letting the vest billow outwards like a dress.  
  
Then he stopped, got his bearings, took a small look around, and then found something new to occupy himself with.  
  
He began searching the pockets.  
  
There was nothing in the first one. Disappointing. Nothing was always boring.  
  
There was something in the other one.  
  
Something was always exciting. Always intriguing.  
  
He pulled it out.  
  
It was a loop of cool metal- gold. It was pretty. The light from the window glinted off of it. Shiny.   
  
As he held it between his fingers, it shrunk. Frodo smiled. He didn't have many things his size- and a small loop of gold that could change sizes was definitely interesting.  
  
He wanted it.  
  
Frodo squirmed out of the vest and tossed it back onto the wooden chest, running off with his new treasure clutched in his fist.  
  
*  
  
Where could it BE?  
  
He had checked the floor by the chest, his bedside table, the kitchen. . . Maybe he had taken it into the bathroom without knowing it.  
  
But apparently not.  
  
Bilbo gritted his teeth behind closed lips. It was silly to act so frantic over such a little trinket. Irrational.  
  
But it was HIS! His one precious possession. How could he have lost it?  
  
His hands fiddled with themselves nervously, as if searching within themselves for the ring. But there was no comfort found, no respite. There was nothing.  
  
He had to find it.  
  
*  
  
Frodo sat out by the gate of his Uncle's hobbit-hole, gazing at the loop of metal in his tiny palm. He ran a finger around it, circling, feeling how smooth it was. He tilted it this way and that, letting the light of the sun shine off of it.  
  
Pretty.  
  
He wanted to put it on.  
  
The impulse came seemingly out of nowhere, but Frodo didn't question it. Children rarely question their impulses.  
  
He slipped it onto his finger.  
  
The change that took place in the world was terrifying- and amazing. Everything turned grey and black and blue, and a wind seemed to rise up from the ground, flapping Frodo's hair and clothes around him carelessly. There was a sound like the flapping of a thousand wings, and a sudden feeling of being completely lost and alone- like you were invisible.  
  
At first the little hobbit wanted to cry and scream, but another part of him, a different part from somewhere deep inside him, told him to explore this world. It was somewhere new- somewhere exciting. Somewhere scary, in a way- but he didn't want to go back. Not just yet.  
  
He stood up.  
  
He walked halfway across the dirt path that stood by the gate. The ground felt strange under his feet. Like it wasn't real ground.  
  
The wind continued to blow.  
  
Suddenly Frodo heard another sound rise above the wind- the sound of pony's hooves, clopping wildly in the dirt.  
  
He turned to see a pony racing down the dirt path towards him. Someone was in a hurry.  
  
"Stop!" Frodo cried, holding out his hands, but the rider didn't stop. It galloped towards him, coming dangerously close.  
  
Frodo screamed, and dived for cover, landing hard on the grass at the opposite end of the road from his Uncle's house. The pony galloped on.  
  
Frodo watched after the pony for a long while, until the sound of its hooves faded, and the wind and white noise of silence took over again. He had had enough of this world- he wanted to take off the ring.  
  
So he did.  
  
There was a sort of snapping, and the wind and the noise ceased, and Frodo lay gasping at the side of the road.  
  
"Hullo there, Frodo."  
  
The little dark-haired hobbit looked up. Standing over him were his cousins, Peregrin and Meriadoc, and his friend, Samwise. They were all looking down at him, quite inquisitively. Their parents, meanwhile, had already vanished inside Bilbo's home, having arrived for dinner.  
  
"How'd you do that?" asked Peregrin. The youngest of the four hobbits, Pippin was small and unassuming, but was certainly the quickest to open his mouth.  
  
"Do what?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Didn't you just come here out of nowhere?" Pippin asked.  
  
"Why are you lying on the ground?" asked Samwise.  
  
Frodo hesitated. He couldn't explain in the slightest what had just happened- and, as such, was at a loss for words. So he decided to start with what he knew.  
  
"I. . ." he stammered, and got to his feet, "I found this in my uncle's pocket." He showed them the ring.  
  
"What is it?" asked Merry.  
  
"It's a ring," said Frodo excitedly, "And it changes sizes."  
  
"It what?" Pippin asked.  
  
"It gets smaller when you touch it," said Frodo, "Watch." And he held out his hand and gave it to Meriadoc.  
  
But nothing happened.  
  
"Nothing's happening," said Meriadoc, twiddling with the ring. It felt nice holding it- it was so small, and smooth. But heavy.  
  
"Well, it happened before," Frodo said, running a hand through his hair. Somehow he suddenly didn't like the thought of Merry holding the ring. He snatched it away from his cousin, "Give it here. Maybe it'll do it again." He held his hand with his palm upward, the ring in the center.  
  
The four little hobbits arranged themselves in a circle, keeping their eyes on the ring in Frodo's hand.  
  
Little Pippin looked at the ring. He tilted his head to one side. His nose wrinkled. Still nothing was happening. This was boring.  
  
The ring did look nice, though. Shiny. Pretty.  
  
"Mine!" he exclaimed, and his tiny hand grabbed it from Frodo's.  
  
"Hey!" Frodo exclaimed.  
  
"Give it back!" said Merry.  
  
Pippin shook his head, and backed away from the others, his hand grasped tightly around the trinket. "It's mine!" he insisted.  
  
"I found it!" Frodo insisted.  
  
"Give it here!" Merry exclaimed, holding out his hand.  
  
"NO," said Frodo, grabbing Meriadoc's wrist, "He's not going to give it to YOU. It's MINE."  
  
"I'm not giving it to EITHER of you," Pippin teased, dancing around in a little circle, "It's MINE now, 'cause I got it."  
  
Frodo and Merry rushed at him.  
  
Someone watching this scene from a distance would think of how endearing they were, these little rascals tussling in the dirt. But a close observer would be surprised by the sudden ferocity of the little hobbits' dispute, which was just far enough over the normal level of play-fights to make one worry. Which was exactly what it was doing to Samwise, who somehow had felt little desire to posses the ring. He did, however, want to stop his friends from fighting. So he, too, rushed into the fray.  
  
The tiny ball of frantically scrabbling bodies rolled around for a few minutes, until it ended in a sudden cry of pain. Tangled in a scrap with others all larger than him, Pippin had decided to take more desperate measures, sinking his tiny teeth into the first object they could find- Sam's left hand.  
  
The spell of the ring was temporarily broken with Sam's cry. All four children stopped dead in the dust, and Sam cradled his hand, two tears blubbering down his cheeks.  
  
"Sam?" asked Frodo.  
  
"He bit me," Sam whimpered.  
  
"Who has the ring?" asked Merry. He, Frodo, and Pippin all looked at each other.  
  
"I don't care who has it, I don't care," Sam said, sitting up painfully, "Why'd you bite me?"  
  
"Everybody open your hands," said Merry. He held out his empty palms. Frodo went nest, offering his bare hands.  
  
Sam followed. He held nothing.  
  
Frodo and Merry looked accusingly at their younger cousin. Pippin, for his part, set an indignant look on his face, and held out his hands.  
  
They were empty.  
  
Sam sniffled.  
  
"What'd you do with it?" Merry accused Pip.  
  
"I didn't do anything," said the younger hobbit.  
  
"Everybody empty your pockets," said Frodo.  
  
But they never got the chance. At that moment, Merry's mother opened the door and called out across the road, "Frodo! Merry! Pippin! Sam! Time to come in, boys!"  
  
For a second time, the spell was broken. Frodo and Merry helped Sam to his feet, and they and Pippin walked back across the dirt road towards the door. 


	2. A Theif Revealed

A/N: THESE SPELLING ERRORS WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME! AAAARRRGGHH!  
  
Um, yeah. In case you couldn't guess, I've gotten notes about my spelling before ^.^; I promise I'll be a good girl and proofread and use spellcheck more. Eh heh heh. . . Thanks for reviewin', though. . .  
  
To P.N.Batgirl, and anyone else who cares: I confess (shamefully) that I am somewhat of a newbie to the Tolkien world. . . I have seen the 'FoTR' movie and read "The Two Towers", but aside from the fact that Pippin is the youngest one I didn't really know anything about the hobbits' ages. . . but, it seems you don't mind if it's a bit AU, so. . . la dee da.  
  
Oh, and btw- I don't own LoTR.  
  
CHAPTER TWO: A Theif Revealed  
  
Bilbo's hands nearly shook as he set the platters on the table. These long moments had been the most lengthy piece of time he's ever gone without knowing exactly where the ring was, and it was starting to show.  
  
"Dear Bilbo, are you sure you're feeling well?" Paladin asked, concerned, "Perhaps tonight isn't the best night. . ."  
  
The Baggins plastered a half-hearted smile on his face, "No, no. I'm quite all right. . ."  
  
"Race you to the table!" the shout came from the open door, and the four little hobbits rushed in, weaving around Bilbo's feet.  
  
"I win!" Frodo grabbed onto the edge of the table.  
  
"Sit down, boys," said Pip's mother.  
  
"You cheated," Merry, who had been second, sulked at Frodo.  
  
"Sit down, boys," Bilbo insisted, in a harsher tone than usually suited him.  
  
The boys sat down.  
  
"How are you feeling, Frodo?" Merry's mother asked kindly as everyone took their places around the table.  
  
"I'm ok, m'am," he said.  
  
"That's good," she smiled.  
  
Bilbo clapped his hands together, forcing himself into being cordial, "Well, now. Let's eat, shall we?"  
  
*  
  
"Merry, don't throw peas at your cousin."  
  
"But he was makin' FACES at me!"  
  
Bilbo's fingers absentmindedly and reflexively kept placing themselves in his pocket. But the ring, of course, still was not there. Panic kept shooting through him. Maybe he had lost it forever. Maybe he'd never get it back. . .  
  
"Frodo, dear, don't wave your spoon around like that."  
  
"Yes, auntie."  
  
Frodo. . .  
  
Bilbo sneaked a look at his young nephew out of the corner of his eye. The little hobbit had been staying with him for only a few months, and he hadn't quite gotten used to it. . . Could it be possible. . .?  
  
He shook away the thought. Frodo was no thief. . .  
  
But he HAD been the only other one in the house.  
  
Bilbo stabbed at his food with the fork. He would have to give his nephew a stern talking-to after the guests left. . .  
  
*  
  
"Good night, Bilbo."  
  
"We'll see you tomorrow, at Petunia Bolger's!"  
  
"Yes, yes. . . Good night, good night. . ." Bilbo waved after his friends as they vanished beyond the gate. Then, he closed the door, and turned his back on it with a sigh, massaging his temples. A small headache had started to grow there.  
  
"Frodo, my lad," he called, "Come here a moment."  
  
Frodo approached, a little surprised at his uncle's appearance. He looked pale and jumpy. . . and he had been acting more stern than usual during dinner. The little hobbit was a little afraid.  
  
"Frodo, my boy. . ." Bilbo got down on one knee. His hands hovered and wavered above his nephew's shoulders, unsure whether to set themselves down or not, "Now, listen to me, Frodo, th-this is v-very important. . . Have you seen, lying about the house. . . a small. . . trinket, a. . . a small loop of metal- a ring. . . a. . . gold ring?"  
  
Frodo blinked- uh-oh. His uncle had just said the two dangerous words: "Very important." Which meant that the ring was something special. Which meant that he shouldn't have taken it.  
  
Which meant that he should avoid, at all costs, fessing up to it.  
  
"Pippin took it," he said.  
  
Bilbo looked skeptical, "Pippin. . .?"  
  
"He took it out of my- he wouldn't give it back, and Merry and I tried to get it, and then he bit Sam. . ." Frodo's words were spilling out of his mouth now, at lightning speed, "And now we don't know who has it cause. . . cause nobody had it, we didn't know. . ."  
  
Bilbo's hands finally settled on Frodo's shoulders. He nodded slowly, looking defeated.  
"All right," he said, "All right. . . Tell me. . . slowly. . . What happened?"  
*  
  
". . .but then Pip didn't have it either. And that's when we got called in. . ."  
  
Bilbo cleared his throat- this was a bad business indeed, "And. . . you didn't see it on the ground?"  
  
Frodo's dark blue eyes flicked around in thought.  
  
"I don't think so," he eventually said, in that specific uncertain way that children have of saying 'I don't think so'.  
  
Bilbo nodded, "All right," he said, and stood up, "I'm going to go look outside. You run and go get ready for sleep, all right?" He ruffled his nephew's black tresses with one hand.  
  
"Ok," Frodo turned to leave, but stopped again at the doorway, "Good night, Uncle Bilbo."  
  
Bilbo smiled, "Good night, Frodo," he said. But his face was filled with fear as he stepped out into the growing darkness.  
  
If he didn't find that ring, it would certainly not be a Good Night.  
  
*  
  
"I'll have to visit the Proudfoots' tomorrow before the party. They've still got that bowl they borrowed from us. . ."  
  
"Oh, I could go and do that. I've got to buy some vegetables at the market anyway."  
  
"All right. . . Coming to bed?"  
  
"In a moment. I think I'll check on the children one more time."  
  
"All right."  
  
Paladin Took kissed his wife on the cheek, and she went walking down the hallway.   
  
"Pippin?" she asked, knocking on the door to her son's room. She turned the knob and opened the door, "Pippin? Are you in-"  
  
The room was empty; the sheets on the bed ruffled, but devoid of life.  
  
". . .Peregrin?"  
  
*  
  
Peregrin Took huddled fearfully under his bed.  
  
It was a place he often went when seeking solitude, or respite from his older siblings. But on this particular night, he had gone down there for an entirely different purpose.  
  
Having gotten ready for bed and bid his family good-night, he had gotten into bed and laid down, until the door was closed. Then he had slithered out, and disappeared under the bed.  
  
Opening his hand, he revealed the ring.  
  
Pippin, not usually the type for quick thinking, had somehow been clever enough to conceal his treasure in his pocket, in the midst of the squabbling. Then, as he had undressed for bed, he had removed it, clutching it in his fist.  
  
Lying on his front under his bed, he had examined the ring, looking at it on all sides, admiring how small and delicate it was. He even licked it. It tasted yucky.  
  
Then he had put it on.  
  
The world of the ring had frightened him- but he had hardly enough time to wonder at it when the door opened, and he recognized his mother's feet walking in.  
  
He watched as they walked by his bed, the wind that emerged from the floor whooshing up around them. Past the door, around one corner of the bed, and around to the other side. There was a pause. . .  
  
Then Mom crouched down and peered under the bed.  
  
Pippin sighed, and flopped his head to one side. This had happened before- he waited for the hand to come and take his wrist, and gently but annoyingly, pull him out- "Pippin, come on out from under there. . ."  
  
But that didn't happen.  
  
Mother simply glanced once around, and stood up again.  
  
The feet walked back around the bed, around the side, towards the door.  
  
She looked again.  
  
Pippin froze this time, staring straight at her.  
  
She stood up.  
  
The door opened, and closed.  
  
Pippin blinked.  
  
Weird.  
  
Slowly he crawled out from under the bed, and stood up, looking at the door. The wind howled around him.  
  
He reached up and slowly opened it.  
  
Mom and Dad were standing in the kitchen, talking.  
  
Little Pippin approached his parents, looking up at them.  
  
They didn't notice him.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Dad walked away. Mom sighed, brushed at her skirt a bit with both hands and walked away.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
She vanished around the corner. Pippin stood there, a confused look of wonder in his young blue eyes.  
  
"Mom?" 


	3. The Ring Changes Hands

CHAPTER THREE: The Ring Changes Hands  
  
No matter where one was in the Shire on any particular night, it would be most likely that you would be able to hear, even if it were off in the distance, the sounds of music and laughter drifting up over the night air. The largest gathering on this particular night happened to be taking place at Petunia Bolger's, and a great deal of hobbits were in attendance.  
  
Children were there, too, skipping in and out of the crowd, popping up underfoot at every occasional turn. A good deal of them were, at this time, engaged in a game of Run-And-Catch.   
  
For the four children we are concerned with, all sense and memory of the previous day's happenings were near forgotten in the state of merriment. 'Near' forgotten- for Bilbo had stayed at home under the pretext that he was 'not feeling well', and sent his nephew along with the Brandybucks, giving Frodo specific instructions to 'keep an eye out'. To an outside observer it would be obvious that Bilbo Baggins was slowly beginning to lose his head about certain things, for young hobbitlings have a great tendency to simply forget whatever it is they are trying to remember. How can they keep such frivolous details in their minds, when there are games to be played and simple things to be laughed at?  
  
"Gotcha!" Frodo grabbed Merry by the wrist, holding him fast for a moment, then dashing off again, "Run and catch--! Hey- Merry's it now!"  
  
Merry started off for his cousin, the notion of revenge in his mind.  
  
But he suddenly felt the dirt slip out from under him- "OOF!"  
  
Frodo turned at the sound, and saw Merry lying face-down on the ground. He started to laugh, thinking his cousin had merely tripped over his own feet. Then, with a weird sort of whapping sound, his suspenders seemed to simultaneously snap off, both at the same time. "HEY!" he exclaimed, one hand holding up his pants and the other reaching behind his back to find the suspenders.  
  
A few moments later, one of the kegs of ale began to spill its contents onto the ground, soaking the dirt. Mosco Bracegirdle, stumbling on his way to another drink, tripped and fell in the mud.  
  
That's when Merry saw it.  
  
Frodo didn't notice- he was still hopping around, trying to either do his suspenders again or procure assistance from the crowd- but Merry, from his low position on the ground, saw it clearly.  
  
It was an apple- which was apparently carrying itself around and between the legs of the party guests.  
  
As Merry stared, the apple bounced along independently, approaching a small tent which the Bolgers had set up to keep equipment and food for the party in. At the edge, it paused, lifted up, and- and this was the only way to describe it- took a bite out of itself.  
  
The side of the tent lifted up, and the apple slipped under it.  
  
Merry blinked and shook his head.  
  
He approached the tent cautiously, then, taking one last look around, slipped underneath the cloth. The sounds of music and laughter outside became muted.  
  
The sound of biting and crunching became more audible.  
  
Merry peered around- and there, between the extra kegs and a pile of pots and pans, sat Pippin. One of his hands was curled in a fist. The other was holding the apple.  
  
"Hey," Merry said.  
  
Pippin's head turned, and his eyes widened.  
  
He jumped up.  
  
Merry was expecting him to run- but Pippin hesitated. His eyes flicked to his curled-up fist.  
  
There was a slight twiddling of his fingers- and Pippin vanished.  
  
"Hey!" Merry exclaimed, taking a sudden burst of speed forward. He looked around, then grasped futily at the air.  
  
That is, until the pots and pans fell over with a sickening 'clang'. The apple lay among them.  
  
Merry dived at the fallen pile of cookware. Pip and his clumsiness- now maybe he'd find out what was going on. Maybe his cousin'd even let him in on the joke.  
  
But first he had to find him.  
  
He reached out and his hand grasped something solid- but invisible. Cloth. Pippin's shirt.  
  
The younger hobbit was struggling.  
  
Merry reached out with his free hand towards one side of Pippin, searching for the younger hobbit's free hand. For a few moments he was unsuccessful. . . But then Pippin made another mistake.  
  
He smacked his cousin hard in one side.  
  
Merry grabbed onto the thing that struck him and held on. But the hand slipped out- And when it slipped, the ring came off.  
  
Pippin appeared, still locked in Merry's grasp. "Lemme go!" he protested. He bopped Merry on the head with the apple.  
  
"Fine," Merry said, and let go.  
  
"Give it back!" Pippin exclaimed- fat, heavy tears were suddenly welling in his eyes.  
  
"Give what back?"  
  
"You know what! Give it back! Give it back! It's not your's!" Pip dropped the apple now and buried his face in his hands, wailing.  
  
It was then that Merry noticed the presence of something in his hand- something familiar.  
  
The ring.  
  
*  
  
"Here, Frodo, lemme help."  
  
Sam, approaching his friend, took one of the suspenders and curled it over Frodo's shoulder.  
  
"Thank you," Frodo said, fastening the clip. Sam went around him and passed the other suspender over Frodo's shoulder, "Y'know, Sam, we- we weren't supposed to take that ring. . ."  
  
"I know."  
  
He fastened the second clip, "Uncle Bilbo wants it back."  
  
"I didn't take it!" Sam insisted.  
  
"I didn't say you did-"  
  
"You're it, Samwise!" Rosie Bolger jumped out from under a bench and smacked him on the arm, "Run and catch!"  
  
"I thought Merry was it!" Frodo shouted after her.  
  
*  
  
"Give it back, give it back, give it BACK!"  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"It's not YOUR'S!"  
  
"It is NOW." Merry sneered- all possibility of the two of them being 'in on it together' had been flung out the window the moment Merry had felt that cold presence in his hand.  
  
"Give it!" Pippin reached upwards towards Merry's hand.  
  
"No!" Merry insisted, in the same way one might firmly discipline a dog.  
  
"Give it, give it, GIVE IT!" Pippin kicked his cousin in the shin.  
  
"NO!" and Merry's hand came down hard, whacking Pippin across the forehead. The smaller hobbit's wails increased in volume. Merry slipped the ring into his pocket and walked away.  
  
Pippin, sobbing and red-faced, collapsed among the scattered pots and pans, "You're a stupid-head, Merry, you're such a stupid-head!" And he buried his head in his arms.  
  
*  
  
The ring had been acting silently for some time- a good few years, actually, since the unexpected hobbit had come and picked it up in that cave. Biding its time, delighting in the old hobbit's dependence on it, as it had with all of its victims.  
  
And it had been most intrigued by the events of the past few days.  
  
Ah, children- children were so trusting, so east to twist- that last one had surrendered himself so easily. . . even treated the ring as an ally, a tool to use for his amusement. And now, having had it taken away, doubtless he was feeling the tenfold effects an adult would after possessing it for such a small space of time. . .  
  
But this new one. . . This new hand that it had felt the warmth of, burning into its metal- it felt a darker purpose in that hand, a slightly blacker soul even in its childish innocence- that could be used to different ends.  
  
It had already begun to work its magic. 


	4. The Power of the Ring

A/N: Before I get going on what I like to call 'The Freaky Chapter' (mwa ha ha), I would like to invite any and all who read this to join my LoTR fanfic/fanart/RPG mailing list, 'The Hobbit Hole'. If you're a Lord of the Rings fan, we like you- if you're a Lord of the Rings fan who likes to role-play, we REALLY like you. ^.^ To join, go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hobbithole  
  
And now, on with the story. . .  
  
CHAPTER 4: The Power of the Ring  
  
He was tossing in dark dreams.  
  
If he had given it up willingly, it would probably have been another matter altogether- but no. . . It had had to be stolen from him, stolen, furthermore, by one who had not been able to understand the implications of his actions. What had he done to deserve this. . .?  
  
Bilbo pulled the blanket further around himself, shivering. Eventually, maybe, he would be rid of it. . . But how long would it take? Days? Months? Years?  
  
A small part of him longed to stick it out, to push proudly on until the day when he could forget his coveted trinket and go back to life as it had been. But a great deal of him wasn't willing to go that far. Life as it was had become the ring, though he didn't even realize it himself- life had become that assurance, that knowledge that somehow a small piece of gold kept him safe, kept him free from all harm and fear and doubt. Years of deprivation from emotions such as those had caused them to build an ever-growing cloud over him, and the absence of the ring had released the rain. The glimmering glint of light shining off gold was the only sun in his reckoning.  
  
Bilbo hardly acknowledged his nephew's return to the home, only to give him a little nod and tell him good-night.  
  
Little Frodo went to bed sadly. He felt bad for his uncle, and he sensed intuitively that there was a little more to it than a simple, common illness. . . But that turned out to be the extent of his guessing, and he went to sleep peacefully, while Bilbo stayed up by the fire for many an hour that night, sitting unsheltered in the rain.  
  
He was not the only one- although, for Peregrin Took, the rain was a bit more literal.  
  
"I swear he'll dry out; shrivel up like an over-baked potato if he goes on like that," Paladin sighed.  
  
"Make him stop, Daddy," Pearl Took whined, her hands clapped over her ears.  
  
"Pip, dear, what's wrong?" Eglantine cooed. She was bent lovingly over her son, who was lying prostrate on his bed, the pillow soaked with tears, his back heaving with sob after ever deeper sob.  
  
Pippin never answered her, despite her coaxing and kind words. The truth was, he couldn't even describe what he was really feeling, no less explain why it was that dark and terrible and sorrowing thoughts kept returning to him- why it was impossible for him to stop crying. He was crying because it was unfair for Merry to take what had belonged to him, he was crying because all the fun he had been able to have with the ring was gone, he was crying because he couldn't explain why he was crying and why he wasn't able to stop.  
  
But the most important reason for his weeping was one that he could not even begin to fathom, much less put into words.  
  
From the moment he had lain eyes on it, the ring had begun to pick at him with its claws. . . And when he had grabbed it out of Frodo's hand, those claws had closed, latching onto him with a death grip from the very moment his hand touched the ring. The voice of the ring had spoken to him, and told him to hide the ring in his pocket until it was safe; it had beckoned him to put it on, told him of all the things he could do with its abilities; it had, on the night after he had discovered its powers, filled his head with imaginings of all the possibilities of mischief he could come up with, and pranks he could pull, when he had it on. And now it was gone, and the wounds left from the claws sank deep into Pippin's young flesh; they had very near torn him apart.  
  
He was still sniffling into his pillow, his sobs diminished in volume but still present, when his family finally gave up and decided to go to bed, hoping he would feel better in the morning. And by morning he would have stopped crying- but the wounds of the ring would take many days to fully heal.  
  
There was a third who stayed up that night. But he felt neither rain pounding on his skull, nor wounds tearing into him.  
  
Merry's eyes glowed as he studied the ring that he was circling between his fingers. The room around him was dark, but the gold of the ring seemed to reflect a sort of inner light. . . Mesmerizing. Hypnotic. Fantastic.  
  
He had no desire to put it on- it was enough only just to LOOK at it, to feel its weight in its hands, to know that it was HIS.  
  
The ring recognized this situation all too well.  
  
Merry shifted from his side onto his back in bed, and gazed lovingly up at his treasure. Small and simple and beautiful- that's what it was. He circled it on and on, studying it from every angle, searching it with his eyes as if it contained some great secret he was bent on discovering.  
  
He rolled onto his other side.  
  
He brought the ring closer to his face, smoothing over the outside with one index finger.  
  
He closed his fingers around it.  
  
Felt nice holding it. . . He sighed, and sunk into his pillow.  
  
He held the ring to his heart that night as he slept. . . And as Merry slept, Pippin cried, and Bilbo felt the rain of sorrow pouring down upon him. And the ring felt the beat of Merry's little heart from beyond his hand, and it lovingly wrapped its dark claws around that heart, grasping at it for all it was worth. 


	5. Foreshadow

A/N: Yes, this is the final chapter- although there is an epilogue that comes after it (and a very cooooool epilogue, at that- but I'll leave you to decide). Thanks to all who read my little ficcie- watch for a Romance coming your way from Yours Truly very soon. :-)  
  
Oh, and BTW, I'm glad y'all picked up on that Gollum reference- that shall serve you well in this chap. . .  
  
CHAPTER FIVE: Foreshadow  
  
"Come on, Apples. . . Come ON. . ." the little hobbit tugged at the rope around the pony's muzzle.  
  
"Emril, don't pull on Apples' rope.". . .  
  
"Five silver pennies for that.". . .  
  
"And I told him, it's really in the way the leaves are crushed that affects how fast the weed burns. . .". . .  
  
Sam shifted his weight from one foot onto the other, then back to the other one. Then back again. He and his family were in the marketplace for the day, and he was extremely bored.  
  
He scuffed at the dirt with his big toe.  
  
With a sigh, he began to do a little wandering, while his father was distracted by the haggling he was involved in. He didn't go far- only far enough to stop at a small stand, where an elderly female hobbit was selling fence-chimes: pieces of metal on string that made a pretty tingling noise when they struck together- and then back behind the stand, and out of the marketplace.  
  
A little ways away, he spied Merry.  
  
Merry seemed to have gotten away from his parents somehow as well- and he was sitting all by himself in the small field, looking at the palm of his hand.  
  
Sam scuffled forward, one foot dragging behind the other. Then, he said:  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Merry's head turned sharply, "Nothing," he said.  
  
"You were doing something," Sam said, suspicious.  
  
"I wasn't doin' nothin'!" Merry insisted, and rose to his feet. He began to walk away.  
  
"Wait up a second!" Sam toddled up to Merry with the innocent motive of just wanting someone to play with for a while, and put one hand on Merry's shoulder to turn him.  
  
But Merry turned of his own will, and his hand shot out, and grabbed Sam's wrist like a vise. Sam sank to his knees with the pain.  
  
"You can't have it!" Merry insisted, "So don't even try!"  
  
Sam winced, "Have what?"  
  
"The ring, dummy!" Merry's hand gave an extra squeeze. Sam whimpered.  
  
"You- you've got Frodo's ring-" he started.  
  
"It's not Frodo's!" Merry's eyes flashed.  
  
"But it's not your's!" Sam insisted.  
  
"Shut up, just shut up!" Merry let go of Sam's wrist now, throwing it to the ground.  
  
"But it isn't right-"  
  
"You just want it for yourself! "  
  
"No, I d-"  
  
But Samwise never finished the word, for Meriadoc, in his fit of rage, had leapt at him, grabbing at his neck. The two were sprawled on the grass, one on top of the other.  
  
Sam found that he couldn't breathe, "Please, Merry, it hurts," he begged, "Please stop it."  
  
"I'm not giving it to you!" Merry insisted.  
  
"STOP IT!" And Sam's knee shot up, whomping Merry right in the stomach. His hand left Sam's throat, and he rolled off of Sam into grass, clutching his midsection and moaning. Sam rested, gasping for breath, the corners of his eyes wet with forming tears.  
  
"That wasn't nice, Merry. That wasn't nice at all." And though his small years of moral teachings had told him it was wrong to steal from others, and though he really felt no attraction towards the ring, he pried open Merry's hand and took it, and ran off with it.  
  
It would be a few moments before Merry would recover and realize what had been stolen from him, and he would have the immediate intention to go after Sam, but it would be at that moment that his parents came across him, eager to be on their way and go home, with no time to listen to his cries.  
  
Sam ran. He ran and he ran and he wasn't quite sure whether where he was running was where he wanted to get to, but he got there all the same. Frodo was sitting outside of Bag End, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick.  
  
"Frodo-! Frodo! I've got it- I've got- I've got the ring!" Sam wheezed as he slowed up by his friend, out of breath, "Here- you can give it back now." He smiled, opening his hand. There the ring lay.  
  
Frodo took the ring from Sam, smiling. "Thanks." The transaction was nearly complete.  
  
But Sam hesitated- now that he had run all this way, he had absolutely no idea how to get back.  
  
*  
  
He had considered keeping it.  
  
It hadn't felt good to lose it that one time- and now that Sam had brought it back, he didn't want to let it go.  
  
But Frodo's heart was purer than that.  
  
Truth be told, he had held onto it for a short while until Sam had been picked up by the immensely confused Gaffer, and the Gamgees had gone on their way. Uncle Bilbo was in a trance now- just going about his daily routine, his eyes half-closed and downcast. Frodo had stood on the threshold of the dining room, watching his Uncle go through this sad ritual, feeling the small piece of gold in his hand.  
  
Yes, he had considered keeping it, but Uncle Bilbo was so dreary like this. . . Frodo's thumb ran around the ring's circumference.  
  
Maybe getting his ring back would make Uncle feel better. 


	6. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
Pippin was an inch away from shuddering at the thought of them. Those living black cloaks on huge horses, with their screeches and sniffing- every unidentified sound could be a clue of their coming; a sign that maybe Strider's diversion hadn't worked so well.  
  
Only two things were keeping him from shivering in fear.  
  
First off, there was still something of a sleepy warmth left inside him, left over from all the merrymaking in the tavern. Often that sort of content fuzziness could be the greatest comfort- though it had too nearly gotten them into deep trouble this time; he realized that now at least.  
  
And second. . . well. . .  
  
He glanced at his cousin, who was still sitting up, at the edge of the bed.  
  
". . .Frodo?"  
  
The dark-haired hobbit turned, "Hm?"  
  
". . .What was it like?"  
  
"What was what like?"  
"When you. . ." Pippin squirmed uncomfortably, ". . .disappeared?"  
  
There was a silence. No doubt the other two were listening now as well. Maybe even Strider, diligent at his post, had latched onto the quiet conversation.  
  
"Well. . ." Frodo paused, and cleared his throat, "Kind of. . . dark, and gray. . . and very windy. . . and everything gets sort of mushed up."  
  
". . .Huh," Pippin said in a questioning sort of way.  
  
"Why do you ask. . .?"  
  
"Well. . ." Pippin squirmed again, unsure whether or not to go on, ". . .I think I had this dream once. . . when I was really little. Where I could go to a place like that. And I think I was invisible when I went there. . ." he chuckled now, caught up in the memory of his fantasy, "I remember, in the dream. . . I was at some party along with my parents, and while I was there, in the invisible place, I snuck up behind Merry and pulled his legs right out from under him." He elbowed Merry softly in the ribs, still chuckling, "Ah, it was great."  
  
There was a small moment of silence.  
  
"Well," Pippin said eventually, "Good night, cousin. Whatever this whole matter is. . . I hope it's over with soon."  
  
And he went to sleep, feeling much more contented than he had been, the fear of the Black Riders diminished by the memory of childhood dreams. Sam went to sleep as well, mostly from pure exhaustion, but Pippin's story had not added to his unrest.  
  
Merry, on the other hand. . . he stayed up an additional silent, long hour, trying to understand just why his cousin's tale had brought up such familiar memories and strange, faint urges within him.  
  
And Frodo only had one more reason to sit up in the darkness, and wonder at the strangeness and possibilities of fate. 


End file.
